


Non-Euclidean Geometry

by nyoka



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-05
Updated: 2013-10-05
Packaged: 2017-12-28 12:55:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/992226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyoka/pseuds/nyoka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Everything changes," Castiel says, meeting his gaze. "Even us, Dean."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Non-Euclidean Geometry

**Author's Note:**

> Post-8.08 reunion fluff. Originally posted [here](http://nyokafic.tumblr.com/post/38279364344/fic-non-euclidean-geometry-dean-cas).

*

"An intense love, a veritable tornado sweeping across the plains — flattening everything its path, tossing things up in the air, ripping them to shreds, crushing them to bits."  
— Haruki Murakami, _The Sputnik Sweetheart_  


*

"I guess we should talk." The words are out of his mouth before Dean can stem then, moving on a hot wash of breath through the cool night.

Castiel doesn’t say anything right away. He leans back against the Impala, and the honey-dark rays of the dying sun flood his eyes with light. Cas watches the horizon, and Dean watches him.

"I think, perhaps, it would be good to do so," Castiel says after a time, but his voice catches in his throat, sticks like sand-worn gravel.

Dean looks at his hands. There’s blood there, caked-on and cracking against his winter-dry skin, caught deep in his cuticles. They haven’t had a chance to clean up from the hunt. But he knows once they get back to the motel, they won’t have the privacy to say the things they probably should say now.

Now that they’re back on Earth. Somewhat whole. Somewhat safe.

"Do you…" Dean pauses, sucks in a breath. Continues with, "Do you think we should try again?"

 _Try again_ , he thinks, shaking his head. It’s weird to even consider it, Dean can admit that much. They haven’t tried anything, not since Dean found out the truth about Castiel’s plans to open Purgatory. The last two years have been nothing but insanity and pain and running for their lives. They haven’t talked about the past, not even a little bit. Not even when they were huddling side-by-side in the wilds of Purgatory.

More importantly, they never talked about the thing they had never even given a _name_ to, the thing that had worked itself between them for years before it fell apart. It had felt a lot like a break-up when it did fall apart; it had felt like an ending. To what exactly? Dean still doesn’t know.

Okay, so they’d never given it a name, Dean frowns. But how could they have? He hadn’t even understood half of what had been happening between them at the time. They bled for each other in the light of the day. But at night they touched each other, they wanted each other, and they fucked each other in the dark. It had ended though, and neither of them had been willing to ask for it again. Dean hadn’t even known if he could even ask for it again. There’s so much water under the bridge. So much water, and Dean doesn’t know what it would take to keep them afloat this time.

Dean rubs his hands together, fighting off the December chill. They’re in Nevada, close to the desert, and the shadow of tall mountains scar the dusky sky. It’s quiet out here, the land of lizards and gods. And two old friends making amends.

They are silent for another long stretch of minutes. Then Castiel’s hand brushes against Dean’s neck, his palm rough on his skin. His voice is barely above a whisper when he finally asks, “Do you wish us to try again?”

Dean closes his eyes, bites at his bottom lip. After a beat he says, “Fuck, Cas, I don’t even know.”

Cas slides his hand over Dean’s shoulder, the movement slow, calculated. “Look at me, Dean. Please.”

Dean opens his eyes, turns to face Cas. He swallows, thick and slow, and says, “It’s a lousy idea, you know that. We’ll just fuck it up again.”

"Likely," Castiel agrees softly. "Definitely."

But Cas leans in anyway, and his mouth closes over Dean’s, his teeth catching at Dean’s lower lip. Dean sighs, leans forward, and gives into it, into _this_ , and their kisses are open-mouthed and frantic and achingly familiar.

Dean twists his fingers in Castiel’s hair, and Cas pushes him back against the driver’s-side door, the handle digging into Dean’s back as they move closer. Cas kisses him soft and tender, their chins and cheeks scratching, the fabric of their jackets rubbing together.

"I missed you," Dean says when he can manage words.

"And I’ve missed you," Castiel says quietly.

"I guess it’s been a while," Dean says, voice rough.

"Yes, it has," Cas says, breath warm against Dean’s ear.

This close to the desert, the moon is blinding. Dean exhales, steadies his breath, his hands tangling in Castiel’s jacket. “What if everything’s changed, you know? Between us,” he asks quietly.

"Everything changes," Castiel says, meeting his gaze. "Even us, Dean."

Dean hooks his fingers in Castiel’s belt loops and pulls him close until their hips align. “Yeah, but you still wear that stupid tie,” he huffs, gaze skating over the crooked necktie hanging from his friend’s neck.

Castiel words are soft, teasing, as he says, “But you like it so much.”

"Nah, I just like you, Cas," Dean says, his voice rolling low, honest.

Cas smiles, presses their lips together. “I’m glad.”


End file.
